


Dearly Beloved

by lacksley



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Fluff, Gen, Minor Angst, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon, Reunions, Vermont, White Christmas AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:39:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9048400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacksley/pseuds/lacksley
Summary: October 1958, Potter gets a letter.November 1958, Potter moves to Vermont to run his cousin's inn.December 1958, Potter gets the best Christmas present anyone could ask for.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deepseadiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepseadiver/gifts).



> A Christmas present and a thank you present for getting me into MASH.

Even though Sherman got the letter on Halloween, it felt more like April Fool’s.

He set down the pages filled with neat script and pushed his glasses up on his forehead, rubbing his face.

“Sherman? Dearest, what’s the matter?” Mildred sat down beside him with two cups of tea. She pushed the chipped Grange mug toward his right hand while raising her own that was painted with faded violets by Evy a long long time ago. 

“Oh, you remember my cousin, Clarence, well… he passed away a few days ago.” His voice was even. Mildred barely remembered the man, plain in every way, and she knew that Sherman wasn’t very close to him either. 

“His wife, Dolores, wrote this letter and I…” Her husband was quiet for a long moment. Sherman cleared his throat and continued.

“It seems that he’d been running a inn in Vermont and he’s, well, he’s left it to me.” That caught Mildred’s attention.

“Sherman, are you thinking—”

“I’m not thinking anything quite yet, but she did invite us to the funeral in a couple days and I think we ought to go.” She placed a hand over his and gave him a kind smile.

“Okay. we’ll go. I’ll start packing tonight.” Sherman smiled back at her.

 

Hawkeye didn’t like funerals. He generally tried to make a habit of avoiding any kind of death that he could, but Clarence was an old family friend, and since his father couldn’t be here, he was enduring it.

He tried to make his constant watch-checking less obvious, but he still got a few glares from the people seated next to him, and he wanted to bolt for the door as soon as the casket was carried through the church doors. Common human decency and a familiar face is what stopped him.

Sherman T. Potter was at Clarence Allen’s funeral, presumably with Mildred. Hawkeye hadn’t seen him since he left Korea. The old couple was closer to the front of the procession, walking with Dolores.

He caught up with them at the wake.

“Colonel Potter?” he asked. The two of them were having quiet conversation. Mildred gently tapped Potter’s hand and her husband turned in his seat to see Hawkeye. He immediately jump out of his seat.

“Pierce?! What are you doing here?” Hawkeye smiled. Potter hadn’t changed a bit.

“What am  _ I  _ doing here, what are  _ you  _ doing here? You know Clarence and Dolores?” He gestured around the room as though the inn embodied the spirit of the old couple. Hawkeye could see Potter was struggling between wanting to hit him or hug him.

“Clarence’s mother Clara used to have the last name of Potter! He’s my cousin!” Potter compromised with himself and pulled Hawkeye into a real back-pounder that nearly knocked the wind out of the man. He had to cough a little before responding.

“And I told you in the winter of ‘52 that me and my dad always go to an inn in Vermont for new years! This is that inn!” Hawkeye glanced around the room. “He couldn’t make it, he had a big operation today, but just wait until I tell him you are Clarence’s cousin.” Potter gestured for Hawkeye to sit and join them. Mildred excused herself to get a drink and talk with Dolores.

“I tell you, Hawkeye, it’s some crazy coincidence that my cousin Clarence turned out to be our best connection back in the states. Heck, I didn’t even know he was running this place until I got the news. Imagine us meeting back up at a funeral of all places.” Hawkeye sat down, placing his coat in the chair next to him. “Five years and I’ve only ever got Christmas cards from most of the old four-oh-seven-seven, how the heck are you?”

“Oh you know, I’m still alive. Mostly.” Potter laughed. “I’ve been splitting my time between Mount Desert in Crabapple Cove and Maine Medical in Portland. Doing a little teaching, actually.” 

“That’s good to hear. Glad you haven’t fallen out of work.”

“Aw, thanks Colonel.” Potter’s smile froze, and he cleared his throat.

“You don’t have to call me that, Pierce. I’m not in the army anymore. Sherman or Potter will do just fine.” Hawkeye didn’t miss the minute change in Sherman’s expression.

“Okay Sherman, as long as you call me Hawkeye.” He waggled his eyebrows in that teasing expression Sherman had missed in the five years since the war. They talked for so long that Hawkeye almost missed his train back to Maine, and he left with promises to meet again soon.

 

It took about a week after the funeral for Sherman to make a decision about the inn. The hospital was leaving him more exhausted than usual, and the residents seemed to be outpacing him in everything. His frustration with his lower station in the hospital hierarchy came to a head when a snide remark from one of the younger doctors about his age sent him into such a lengthy tirade the young man was sobbing on the floor by the time he’d finished. Sherman went home almost immediately afterwards and said to Mildred, “Pack your bags, we’re moving.”

She had been rather excited about the prospect of moving from Missouri to Vermont, getting to do something more interesting than play bridge with the Mary and Tom Davis across the street. In secret, Mildred had been packing a few items each day in a number of boxes ever since the funeral, and now she could drag them out of the spare bedroom to fill in plain sight.

The move was fairly painless, since they didn’t need to bring much to furnish the innkeeper’s cottage. At one point, Sherman told Mildred how it reminded him of the many times the 4077th had to “bug out” in Korea, and more than a few times she saw Sherman get misty-eyed over any of his old army things he happened to find while they were packing. Still, they didn’t bring much with them, leaving the rest to be taken by Evy and Michael.

Dolores had left them nearly everything in the estate, and was planning to retire to New Mexico to live with her sister and niece once Sherman and Mildred were comfortable running things on their own. And it turned out that Dolores didn’t need to stay long at all. Sherman took to innkeeping like a drill sergeant with fresh recruits, and Mildred knew he was overjoyed, having something to take charge of all on his own. 

She knew he missed the army, but he denied it when she asked him about it one night before they went to sleep.

They both got a handle on things fairly quickly, and got along with the small staff well. So well, in fact, that Dolores had finished packing and mailing her possessions to New Mexico within a month, and gave a tearful goodbye to the inn and the staff and Mildred before she drove off with Sherman to the train station on December 22nd.

“You make sure to do your share, Sherm. That woman is too good for you and will try to do everything herself.” Sherman laughed as he helped her up on to the train car.

“Don’t I know it. Have a good trip Dolly, and you make sure to give us a call once you’ve settled in. I’m sure Mildred will want to hear all about the trip.” She smiled, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and disappeared into the train car. He stayed on the platform until the train left, waving until it had passed out of the station and he couldn’t see her car anymore.

Sherman dropped his arm and sighed. There was no rush to get back to the inn, and since he left Mildred and Emma-Jean counting forks this morning, he didn’t particularly want to spend his afternoon elbow-deep in cutlery. He decided to mill about for a while, not having spent a lot of time in this train station except to hurriedly rush through it to get to the funeral, and then when they first moved up here. As he made his way around the small shops selling gifts to forgetful travelers, he also began to people-watch. Young couples dragging huge suitcases, families with crying children, and a few old-timers like himself with no particular destination. His eyes landed on two people in a particularly animated discussion.

At first, he wasn’t sure if the universe would be bizarre enough for Pierce to be here in this train station at this moment in time, but as he looked a little closer, it was definitely him, with another man that a little taller and grayer than him. They both seemed to be speaking heatedly and passing a brochure between them. Hawkeye’s expression suggested they were arguing. Sherman struggled with whether or not he should say hello, seeing as how they might be arguing, but also knowing he might not get another chance to see Hawkeye for a long time.

It turned out he didn’t have to decide at all.

Hawkeye saw him first, eyes passing over his old CO as he scanned the room, before quickly snapping back. He raised his arm part way in greeting before grabbing the brochure back and pointing, and the other man turned around. To Sherman’s surprise, he was the spitting image of Hawkeye, or perhaps it was the other way around, as Sherman guessed the man must be Hawkeye’s father.

“Sherman!” Hawkeye called, finally waving in earnest as Sherman pushed through the crowd.

“What are you doing here, Pierce? You’ve still got a few stops left before you get to Maine.” A smile settled on to Sherman’s face.

“We were coming to see you, but I didn’t expect you to pick us up at the train station, especially seeing as how I never even told you we were coming.” Hawkeye was smiling, as was his father.

“I was just dropping Dolores off on her train to New Mexico. She has officially retired from innkeeping, so it's just Mildred and myself holding down the fort now.” Hawkeye laughed, and his father gave a small cough.

“Oh, what am I doing? Sherman Potter, this is my father, Daniel Pierce. Sherman was my old commanding officer in Korea.” Daniel stuck his hand out.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter. Hawk has told me a lot about you.” Sherman grabbed it in a firm handshake.

“The same to you, sir. Please, call me Sherman.”

“As long as you call me Daniel, Sherman.” The way he said it reminded Sherman of what Hawkeye said at the wake two months ago.  _ They really are related,  _ he thought.

“Since you said you were on your way to see me, why don't I give the two of you a ride back to the inn? I've got the car parked a block away.” 

“Mighty kind of you, Sherman. Shall we?” Daniel picked up his suitcase and followed Sherman out of the train station with Hawkeye following.

 

Hawkeye was nervous that Potter would discover his plans once they got to the inn, but Mildred turned out to be a lifesaver. As soon as they walked in the door she sent him off to the kitchen to finish counting forks with Emma-Jean.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he told her as she handed over their room keys. Mildred gave him a knowing smile.

“I’ve been married to that man for thirty years, Hawkeye. I know him better than he knows himself, and he’ll be tickled pink with all that you’re doing for him.”

“Well, pink is a much better color on him than orange or red.” Daniel swatted at his son, and the Pierces took their bags upstairs.

Hawkeye had been scheming since the funeral to do something for Potter, and it took him nearly two months to pull it all together and many secret late-night phone calls with Mildred to organize everything, but finally it was all falling into place. BJ, Radar, and their families arrived several hours later, (everyone else planned to come the next day) and despite Sherman almost walking in on them, he still had no idea what was coming to him Christmas Eve.

 

It seemed to Sherman that Mildred had such an endless list of chores for him to do that he might end up missing Christmas.

After counting the rest of the cutlery (he’d finished the forks yesterday), Sherman milked the cow, groomed the old mare, baled some hay for both animals, knocked the icicles off the ends of every roof, shoveled a new path between the inn, the barn, and the innkeeper’s cottage, he came inside for a small rest and a new assignment from Mildred, but it wasn’t what he expected.

“Go get dressed nice, we’re having dinner.” It certainly was late enough, and as he stepped out to head for the innkeeper’s cottage, the cold made his old bones shiver. He headed straight for the closet where Mildred had hung up his suits when they moved in, only to find the space he expected them to be empty. He heard the front door close and called out.

“Mildred? All my suits are missing!” She came into the bedroom a few moments later, and placed a hand to her cheek.

“Oh my, I must have sent them to the cleaners.”

“All of them?”

“Well, Sherman, you only have two.” He stuck his head back inside the closet, as if the suits would magically reappear.

“What am I supposed to wear then?” Mildred leaned around his shoulder to look inside as well, perhaps searching for ideas. After a minute, she smiled, and reached for a garment bag way  _ way  _ in the back.

“How about your uniform, dear? I always thought you looked rather dashing in your dress uniform.” Mildred pulled the garment bag off the rod and held it out in front of Sherman, as though she was picturing him wearing it. A small, sad expression formed on his face as he took the bag from his wife.

“Okay,” he sighed. Mildred squeezed his shoulder.

“I’ll be in the lobby, you come over whenever you’re ready.” Mildred left Sherman alone with his uniform. He gave a long sigh, setting the bag down on their bed.

“Alright, you old coot,” he grumbled to himself. “Let’s get this over with.”

It surprisingly didn’t strain him too much to get into his uniform, and though it was beginning to feel tight around the middle, it still felt like coming home to an old friend after many years. Mildred was waiting for him in the lobby, and she blushed like a schoolgirl when he offered his arm to her. They entered the grand dining room together, to the sound of Christmas music.

Two women were on the stage, harmonizing quite beautifully with “White Christmas.” Mildred led Sherman to a table in the center, between the dance floor and the stage. They sat down as the women finished to a smattering of applause. A man took the stage next, and began to read off a note card.

“It’s been a long time since all of you have been together, and though some of us are meeting for the first time, what better time to do it than Christmas? Take it away, Walter.” Sherman expected the band to start playing, but instead a tall young man walked out on the stage with a bugle. He raised it to his lips, but before he started playing Sherman caught the hint of a snicker.

“Just kidding,” the young man said, before dropping the bugle. “Ten-hut!” he shouted, and several chairs screeched across the floor as people stood to attention, including Sherman himself as a knee-jerk reaction. “Form ranks!” and the people that stood (excluding Sherman) marched into two neat lines along the dance floor.

“Troops are ready for inspection, Colonel.” And as the young man joined ranks, Sherman recognized him as Radar. A wave of emotion rolled over him as he actually looked at the people comprising the lines in front of him. They were all there, his family. Mildred nudged him in the side and he walked around the table to inspect them.

Each and every one of them was wearing their dress uniforms, even Klinger (in his actual dress uniform). He walked down the lines, being unable to do anything more than smile. Hawkeye was waiting for him at the end, a square present in his hands.

“Merry Christmas, Colonel.” Sherman took the gift into his hands, staring at it for a long moment.

“Well go on, open it!” Margaret called. Sherman let out a small laugh, and tore the brightly colored paper open to reveal a plain box. Inside was…

“A camera?” he asked, looking to Hawkeye.

“Oh no, not just any camera, Colonel, a Brownie Hawkeye.” BJ turned the box so the name was visible. The group burst into laughter.

“It’s for tonight, Colonel.” Mulcahy explained. “You take as many pictures as you can and we’ll get them developed, so everyone hold on to some good memories.”

“Go on, Colonel. Take some good ones for me,” Charles said, his smile cutting through his posh tone. Potter smiled, and a small tear rolled down his cheek, before he attempted to pull everyone into a big hug.

“All you fools, coming all the way over here for me,” he grumbled into the group.

“Aw, c’mon Colonel, we’ve got gifts from everyone under the tree! And you’ve got to meet all the families!” BJ called, before pulling out of the hug to run up on the stage where the 16 foot Christmas tree stood waiting, shiny packages stuffed under the branches. Everyone followed him, including the families that had been sitting at the tables in the back. Mildred came up to his side and took his hand, leading Sherman up the stage.

“Well, if this doesn’t take the cake,” he whispered to himself, before joining the revelry of being together, again, at last.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that this is so rough, I was rushing to finish by Christmas day and I barely made it, which means no beta-ing, but I hope you'll forgive me since it's Christmas.  
> Fun fact, the Brownie Hawkeye camera was one of the most popular cameras made between 1949 and 1961.  
> So it's supposed to be a White Christmas (1954) AU. I think the two women singing "White Christmas" are Peg and Soon Lee, and the guy that introduces Radar is probably(?) Margaret's husband. I suppose if you want Trapper and Frank to be there, they can be, they just don't speak.  
> This went through so many last minute edits, I hope it's coherent enough. Merry Christmas!!


End file.
